


Memoria

by liliesofthevalley



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Season 2 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliesofthevalley/pseuds/liliesofthevalley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ward ran a hand across his face and when he looked back up at her, she could see that he seemed steadier, but there was no recognition in his eyes, no pain or raw angst at what he’d done. Skye took a deep breath. “Do you know who I am?”</p>
<p>It took a second, but eventually he nodded. “You’re my wife.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memoria

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Agents of SHIELD story. The story is AU from the end of Season 1 but addresses mostly Season 2 storylines.

Skye hit the ground hard.

Black crept along the edges of her vision, blurring into grey as she shook her head and tried to hold on to something. Her fingers flexed in a vain attempt to snare something in their grip. She was rewarded for her efforts by sharp pinpricks of glass biting at the palms of her hands and the tangy taste of blood and asphalt on her tongue when she cried out. Her ears rang.

Two gunshots rang out.

 “No,” she rasped out. Skye forced herself onto her knees, heedless of the stinging pain and the way the world tilted around her. She tried to heave herself to her feet but ended up slamming onto her elbows. “Please, no.”

She couldn’t see much through the messy strands of her sweat-damp hair, but she trained her unfocused gaze in the direction she had had last seen her team. Tripp had gone charging out of sight long before she’d hit the ground, chasing after Simmons and the bit of technology they’d rescued from Hydra operatives.

A shadow fell over her and Skye rolled with a grunt, kicking and lashing out with her feet at whoever was hovering over her. She might not last long at this point, but never let it be said that she didn’t go down fighting.

Agent May blocked her attempts with ease and gripped her elbow, hauling her to her feet. There was a streak of soot across the bridge of her nose, but she seemed uninjured. Skye snorted. Of course – nothing could get May.

 “Can you walk?”

Skye nodded one jerky bob of her head. “Yeah, I think so.”

Truthfully, she rather doubted it; she was barely standing as it was. May gave her one more look over before handing her an ICER and motioning for her to follow. “Come on.”

A group of Hydra agents met them at the bottom of the stairwell and Skye ducked under a blade, hitting him dead in the chest with an ICER bullet before swinging out of the way of the man behind him. May deftly took out two more in a blur of movement and pain-filled grunts.

Another shot rang out and Skye looked up to see Tripp standing on the landing above the last falling Hydra agent.

 “This way!” he called, disappearing down to the first floor. May was not a step behind him, taking the stair two at a time to keep up. Skye was limping by the time she came careening around the corner of the ground level; her grip on the ICER pistol was shaking from all of the tiny cuts still bleeding on her palms.

 “Coulson’s not back yet?” Tripp’s voice was sharp and panicked. Skye bent over to put her hands on her knees and calm the heaving, desperate breaths that were fighting to fill her lungs. She wasn’t sure what the problem was – they had what they came for. She spotted Fitz a few feet away, easing the pieces of equipment into a secure case.

 “Skye.” Simmons’ voice was trembling and Skye coughed, rubbing the back of her wrist across her forehead as she straightened. “I need you to calm him down.”

Calm? What – ?

She stilled. Skye scanned her eyes over the scene, mentally accounting what she was seeing. Coulson was missing, but everyone else was there – May, Tripp, Fitzsimmons…everyone but –

Skye started forward and let out a gasping breath when she saw him. Regardless of her feelings where he was concerned, or the deep fury that welled up when she saw him, it wasn’t right for him to look like that.

Grant Ward was shuddering in a pool of blood. His eyes were clenched shut, his hands clawing at the ground. Simmons knelt over him, hands stained red as she pushed down on the wound that leaked rivulets of blood between her fingers.

 “Skye!”

There was a tiny part of her that wanted to let him die. He’d hurt so many people, done so many terrible things – why did he deserve the second chance that Coulson seemed so intent on giving him? But then his eyes were open, blinking and pained. Skye shook her head and fell forward, crawling to his side and easing his head into her lap. No. Grant Ward deserved many things, but not to die like this. She’d had the chance to watch him die before and she hadn’t been able to do it. God help her, she couldn’t do it then and she couldn’t do it now.

 “Mind that head wound,” Simmons told her. “And do what you can to keep him awake.”

He was staring up at her, frantic but still. She held his gaze, even when she heard the squealing tires of the Shield SUV as it barreled towards them, with Coulson spilling out and barking orders. “Don’t die,” she told him.

Skye heard a shout from the platform above and she looked up in time to see another Hydra agent tumble over the railing. May lowered her weapon but kept it firmly locked in both hands. Coulson elbowed her to the side to lift Ward by the shoulders; Tripp and Fitz each grabbed a leg.

 “Easy, easy!” Simmons ordered. She darted ahead to open the backseat door and Skye watched, her breath coming to her in short, dizzying pants. May fired another shot, calling a sharp, “Move it, Skye!” over her shoulder, but it was the pained grunt of her name that had her pushing herself to her feet. She forced her way past the well-meaning Fitz to kneel on the blood-soaked leather. Ward’s hair was caked with blood, matted to his temple and she choked, swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat. There was so  _much_  of it.

 “Skye,” he croaked.

 “I’m here.” She took his head in her lap and peeled off the charcoal grey cardigan she wore over the Shield vest and pressed it to the back of his head to staunch the blood. With her free hand, she found his hand and squeezed. Blood squelched between her fingers. “Don’t. Die.”

It took longer than it should have for Coulson to come to a screeching halt outside the doors to Billy Koenig’s Playground facility. Skye threw a hand up against the headrest to keep herself from toppling over.

The Shield doctors, it seemed, had no issues with all but chucking her to the ground in their effort to get to Ward. She wanted them to help them, knew that they could. Rationally, she knew that Coulson, and Nick Fury before him, had hired the best – Shield itself had accepted nothing but the best – but that didn’t stop the wild hysteria from rising in her chest as Ward was placed on a stretcher and wheeled out of sight.

Simmons caught her by the shoulders when she moved to follow and held her in place with surprising strength.

 “Let go.”

 “Skye.” Her grip didn’t budge. Skye’s eyes burned with tears and she struggled. She thought she was done with crying over Grant Ward. “Skye. He needs you to be strong.”

She stopped. She blinked once, twice and set her jaw.

Ward had done a lot of things before he’d been outed as Hydra. He had lied, manipulated, betrayed. But he had also helped her, made her stronger, and he was trying to do that again, to  _be_  that for her again. She’d be damned if she disappointed him.

Tripp came into view then, hauling a Hydra operative by the back of his neck. His arm was twisted painfully behind his back. The agent had been unfortunate enough to be in charge of the Hydra unit that had left Ward lying in a pool of blood. Skye turned and steeled herself. May had explained the ins and outs of interrogation a few weeks earlier. Now seemed as good a time as any for some hands-on practice.

May, who had been watching her with hawk-like focus, quirked a half-smile. “He’s all yours.”

Skye threw herself into interrogation with a fervor that was as terrifying as it was informative. But there were only so many times she could ask questions and receive answers before she had exhausted all possible avenues. Before she had run out of excuses not to be sitting in the waiting room with the rest of her mix-matched family, waiting for news. Any news.

She came back to the team haggard. “How’s Ward?”

Coulson watched her a long moment before replying, “Ward’s a fighter.”

It wasn’t the resounding recovery story she’d wanted to hear. And she knew how to read between the lines.

They spent the next weeks waiting with bated breath as the Shield doctors flounced around, tossing out words like “unstable” and “hemorrhaging” and “we’ll do all we can”, like they were talking about the outcome of a football game. It wasn’t a game. There was nothing fun or remotely game-like about standing on the sidelines while Grant Ward faded away right before their eyes. He seemed a little paler every time she saw him, his cheeks sunken across the bones. She hated him more now that he was dying than she ever could have when he was living.

Coulson remained optimistic, up until the sounds of raised voices in the halls had interrupted the debrief from the latest Hydra skirmish. He had opened the door to find countless medics running down the hall, bottlenecking at the door to Ward’s room.

 “I’ll see what I can find out,” he said. “Wait here.”

No one waited. The rest of the team followed, whispering, pale-faced. She saw Fitz snaring his arm around Simmons’ shoulder.

It took Skye a long, shuddering moment before she could follow. Her eyes dropped closed and her white-knuckled grip threatened to shatter the tablet in her hand. She counted to five and steeled herself for Coulson’s confirmation that Grant Ward – the man she could-have, would-have,  _did_  love – was dead.

Yet when she approached the room, it wasn’t Fitz’s soothing murmurs that she heard. No. It was May’s calm, calculating voice and another, shouting voice that she instantly recognized. Her brows furrowed.

She came whirling into the room and the scene froze before her. Coulson’s arms were outstretched to show he meant no harm. May was tense but completely still, edged just enough in front of Fitz and Simmons to show the underlying tension in the room. And there, in the center of the room, was Ward.

He was on his feet, but leaning heavily on one side. He whirled around, looking from Coulson to May to Fitzsimmons to Tripp with eyes that were unseeing and wild. Breath was coming to him in erratic pants and she could see little beads of perspiration breaking out across his forehead. He stumbled against one of the IV tubes he was still connected to and when Fitz stepped forward to steady him, Ward shoved him away. May shot forward but cut herself off mid-motion at the sound of Skye’s voice.

 “Grant,” she called.

Ward’s eyes landed on her and in a single instant, the fight drained out of him. He slumped back against the bed, chest heaving.

Skye stepped forward, hands coming up to mimic Coulson’s pacifying gesture. “Grant, it’s okay.”

Ward ran a hand across his face and when he looked back up at her, she could see that he seemed steadier, but there was no recognition in his eyes, no pain or raw angst at what he’d done. She took a deep breath.

 “Do you know who I am?”

It took a second, but eventually he nodded.

 “You’re my wife.”

Skye blinked. Behind her, Tripp made a choking sound. She looked over her shoulder to see what Coulson had to say and all he managed was an unhelpful jerking motion with his head. Not knowing what else to do, Skye looked back to Ward.

 “Yes,” she said, breathless. “Yes, I am.”

 


End file.
